


Ursi

by BearHatter



Category: Pellinor - Alison Croggon
Genre: BAMF!Maerad, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Horse!Darsor, I just like tags, Oblivious!Cadvan, Slow Build, Wolf!Maerad, Wolfiness, cold times, except he's always a horse anyway, fluffy end, okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearHatter/pseuds/BearHatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maerad can't shift out of her wolf-shape when she reunites with Cadvan. This is problematic. On the other hand, now they can't talk each other to frustration, so that's a plus. </p><p>(I'm really tired. I'll probably edit this summary later.)</p><p>(Hey, it's another fic in this fandom on this site; doin' my part, guys.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I think in every story, every series, there is a turning point. A point where you know that the very worst is over. A part where, though the end is very far, you can imagine it in the distance. For me, in the Pellinor series, it was the end of the Riddle, and for me, that’s where it’s most fun to play around. Anyway, though I loved the Singing, it doesn’t stop me from wondering other ways it could have gone. So here’s a story.

Through the ruins Maerad wandered, the scenes around her inconsistent with her memories of the place, which were full of light and beauty. Her stomach growled as the scent of food—perhaps rabbit?—came to her nose, and she sniffed her way towards a clearing amidst the chaos.

There was a man, and a horse, and most important to Maerad’s nose, a pot of stew, which the man was tending to over a fire. Unsure of herself, but hungry enough to risk it, Maerad slowly stepped closer. Maybe she could beg for some food, or take it. She was desperate.

The man noticed her quickly, and faced her. “Samandalame, ursi,” he said in the speech. A bard then. “Welcome, wolf. You look hungry.”

Her eyes previously on the stew, Maerad finally focused them on—Cadvan. It was Cadvan, and the horse was Darsor. She stared at him, numb with shock. Cadvan, clothes even more worn, face even more weary, but alive.

Maerad’s shock turned to wild joy and se bound closer, ready to apologize, to sob, to laugh, to celebrate that neither of them were dead. Cadvan shouted and leapt back, drawing his sword and forcing Maerad to tumble to the side to avoid it.

“I do not wish to harm you,” Cadvan said warily but still gently. “And you need not kill me for food.”

Maerad got up and shook herself. Of course—she was still wolf. Cadvan couldn’t recognize her, and must have thought she was attacking him. She sat down, trying to find that inner part of her, trying to find Maerad.

But she couldn’t. She searched and searched for that center, that place beyond layers, and it kept slipping away. She couldn’t get a hold on it, couldn’t find the point of transformation.

Finally, horrified, Maerad looked up to find Cadvan staring at her carefully, sword still drawn. He wouldn’t know she was Maerad until she managed to change back, whenever that would be.

Her despair made it easy to convince Cadvan she was harmless, and she put her ears back and whined, before lying on her belly and resting her head on her paws. Thankfully, Cadvan seemed to understand and relaxed, putting his sword away and turning back to the stew she could now ascertain was rabbit.

“So then, I see we’ve come to an agreement,” he remarked, “Stew for peace?” Maerad’s ears perked up, and she stood up too, trotting closer, though still giving Cadvan his space. Perhaps she could still stay with him until she regained her true form.

When the stew was ready, Cadvan spooned some out for both of them, putting Maerad’s bowl on the ground and sitting down with his. Soon all was quiet, save for the lapping sounds Maerad made with her tongue.

They both finished quickly, and Cadvan looked thoughtfully at the full-grown wolf sitting next to him. “You know, wolf, you have been silent all this evening. Is this some trick of the North?”

Maerad had tried speaking to him and Darsor already, through mindspeak, but she hadn’t gotten any response. The lack of results from Darsor had especially surprised her—they were both animals, weren’t they?—but Maerad had already suspected that when animals spoke the speech, they were not using mindspeak, but something communicated more physically, that bards could interprate instinctively, using the speech. She had noticed it in her old pack. It was a language she could understand, but not speak. Her old pack’s ability to understand her must have been given to them, by either Ardina or Inka-Reb. She did not know. All she knew was this new, unpleasant sensation of being isolated from the people dearest to her while right next to her.

Cadvan was still looking at her after asking his question, so she did her best to shake her head, and snorted unwillfully. Cadvan  looked even more thoughtful, but there was little left to do but sleep.

He set out his sleeping arrangements, glancing at Maerad all the while, as if he expected her to leave. Any normal wolf would, Maerad supposed, but she wasn’t one. After all, she had no pack, no home, except for Cadvan.

Finally, Cadvan sacrificed one of his blankets for her to lie on by the opposite side of the fire and bid her good night. Maerad turned around a few times then settled, curled up, her tail keeping her nose warm.

She was restless, though, lonely with isolation and lack of communication. She was worried she would be a wolf forever. Eventually, she sat up one last time to howl at the moon, to howl her pain and sorrow just once into the night, before resting her weary body.


	2. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maerad decides who to travel with now, Cadvan reacts, Darsor is the coolest horse ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, good place to mention, there's another unrelated fic with a similar premise, called "The Problem" by Kangarooney on ff. So, shoutout, 'cause Kangarooney's cool and roots for me. Anyway. Carry on.

The next morning, Maerad was up before Cadvan, an occurrence that had been extremely rare when she was human. She enjoyed the silence and the crisp morning air she smelled, that had overtones of horse and man and rabbit.

Thinking of that rabbit, she went to the previous night’s leftovers. Though bones were not preferable, and her human sensibilities still made her leery of such things as rabbit carcasses, she had gotten less picky, and she crunched it up, not wanting to waste anything.

While she was having breakfast, Darsor had woken. He was now watching her warily, which made sense to Maerad: she had seen a wolf (Ka) bring down a buck at least Darsor’s size before.

Not want to appear a threat, however, Maerad undertook to become better acquainted and friendly with Darsor in this new form. To this end, she walked slowly up to him, pausing a careful distance away, and smiled as best she could—it was a wolfish grin, apologetic looking, and Darsor relaxed just a little bit.

 _Good morning to you, wolf,_ he said, _I do not know if our kind can be friends, but I see you do not want horseflesh, and I thank you._

Maerad, of course, could not respond to this, but she did wag her tail a few times and sat down companionably. Darsor watched her for a while, relaxing visibly.

 _So you truly are silent,_ he remarked softly, _If this is a dark device of the Winterking or the Nameless One, I sorrow for you._ And, very nobly, he bowed his head to her.

A strange feeling jumped through Maerad at the mention of Arkan, but she was more touched by Darsor’s kindness and honor, and she stood up to accept it and bow in return.

Unbeknownst to either, though, was Cadvan, awake now and watching this odd truce between horse and wolf. He did not trust easily, but something inside him (his truthteller abilities, perhaps, or maybe just instincts) told him that this wolf was not dangerous, and Darsor’s reaction confirmed it, while also increasing his curiosity.

He had never seen a wolf act quite this way before. Where was its pack? That howl last night had twinged in the way that only a wolf howl could, and it was full of loneliness and pain. It reminded Cadvan of his own loneliness and pain, and he bowed his head now under the weight of it, remembering.

After a moment or two, a movement caught the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see the wolf, sitting a mere three feet in front of him. “Hello, wolf,” he nodded and tried to muster a faint smile. “I was waiting for someone here. I don’t suppose  you’ve seen her?”

The wolf, Maerad, pawed her muzzle in frustration. But she could not speak, and, looking at Cadvan, gave a sad wolf-shrug.

“I am sorry,” he gravely said, “I had forgotten your silence. And who have you lost, I wonder? It is a rare thing, certainly, to see a lone wolf—just as rare, I guess, as to see a lone bard.”

Maerad gently padded over to Cadvan, and lay down next to him, the rise and fall of her ribs reminding him that neither of them were quite alone. He smiled a little. “Aye, not so alone as that, I suppose, but more alone than I yet hoped. I had hope for another to join to meet Darsor and me yesterday.” Cadvan’s voice cracked a little and he bowed his head. “Ah, hope!” he murmured so that Maerad could barely hear him, “As light and sure as bird wings, and dangerous and piercing as an arrow, and without it, mankind must surely die, but with it, life is full of exquisite pains.”

Maerad didn’t know what to say, so perhaps it was for the best just then that she could not say anything. A moment later, Cadvan briskly stood up to pack camp. His manner was that of a man desperately trying to move forward in an effort to forget what he has left behind. After all was put away, Cadvan leaned against Darsor, his head in the hollow of Darsor’s shoulder. “But whither shall we go, old friend? Without her?”

Darsor was silent for a for a moment. _Her absence saddens me as much as though she was my own colt. But she is not a colt. Are you certain she is forever lost, my friend?_

Cadvan shrugged helplessly. “I cannot tell. Any feeling I have is invariably contradicted or second-guessed. My heart is too close to the matter to see clearly.”

 _Ay_ , Darsor replied gravely, _Perhaps even closer than you think. But it is your decision, whether we keep searching or return South._

“I could not stop looking so soon. What do you say we make our way back to Murask?”

 _Yes,_ Darsor said in his certain, horse-sense way.

Cadvan started saddling Darsor, and tying on all the necessary saddle bags. While he worked, Maerad went off a few yards, to get out of the way. She wandered around Pellinor, aching at how familiar yet foreign it seemed. It was a mirror of her childhood, smashed to pieces. She found a fountain to wash in, and shook herself strongly getting out, wishing sadness could come off as easily as water.

She trotted back to camp, then. Cadvan seemed surprised at her continued presence. “You… would travel with us, wolf?”

Maerad inclined her head regally, as Ka had taught her.

Cadvan and Darsor exchanged a look. “Well, then I suppose you are welcome. Although I don’t know when I traveled with such singular company.” He paused as a thought stuck him. “Will you be able to keep up with Darsor?”

Maerad growled grumpily at the insult, moving to sit huffily by Darsor. Darsor glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

 _That is an insult to a wolf,_ he told Cadvan sternly, _They are proud, and well able to cover many miles in a day. Indeed, they are better suited to this environment than I._

Surprised, Cadvan looked from one animal to the other. “I am sorry, then, if I caused offense,” he finally said, making a slight bow.

Maerad stood to receive it, and nodded gratefully to Darsor as Cadvan moved to mount. She wondered how he knew so much about wolves.

Apparently Cadvan wondered the same thing, because after the had traveled a short distance, Darsor cantering, Maerad easily loping, he asked Darsor about it. Darsor slowed down to answer, and Maerad trotted ahead a little, tasting the air.

 _It is a good thing among animals, to know how to be polite,_ she heard Darsor say. _It is something colts should be taught._

“Even to predators?” Cadvan inquired curiously.

Darsor snorted a horse laugh. _Especially to predators._

Cadvan laughed shortly. “I guess I’m as ignorant as a colt.”

_About animal things… yes._

“Well, one can’t know everything, but I’m happy to learn more things.”

_And that is as it should be._

Maerad felt so glad to be with her friends again, to be able to hear them speak again. She had missed them like nothing else. Now she only missed Imi, and that not a little either.

Suddenly, her nose picked up a different scent on the wind—men, dogs, food, skins. And behind it all… she inhaled deeply… the numbing tingle of black sorcery.

Jussacks.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealin' with Jussacks like bosses, ironic parallels are drawn by a certain oblivious Bard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review and kudos, by the way! Please! It warms my heart! That will be relevant in a couple chapters!

Maerad snarled, and snorted at that awful smell in her nose. then she turned to face Cadvan and Darsor. She had to warn them. She growled loudly and Darsor stopped walking. Cadvan dismounted. That was a start.

            “What is it, wolf?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t yet draw his sword—perhaps he was beginning to trust her.

            Maerad growled again and turned, pointing her nose in the direction the Jussack-smell was coming from. Darsor moved up next to her, smelling, and Cadvan’s eyes widened, surprised at how much Darsor dared with this wolf. He knew Darsor would charge into a pack of wolves if it was required, but this was not required, and Cadvan wondered why his instincts didn’t warn him off.

 _She is right,_ Darsor rumbled, _There are men coming this way._

            “She?” Cadvan inquired.

            _Yes,_ Darsor snorted impatiently.

            “But why the alarm? It could be just a group of hunters, or travelers.”

            _Her nose is more sensitive than mine. I do not know what she smells._

The Jussacks were getting closer now. Soon they would be in view. Maerad turned again and trotted toward Cadvan. He tensed up guardedly, but all she did was paw at his scabbard, willing him to draw his sword, and he relaxed a little.

            It was strange to be so close to him, Maerad thought. If she was human, she would have just told him the danger, from a distance. Up close, he smelled like dust, and sweat, but also like faraway places, and she could smell the bard in him. He smelled good—that is, she could tell he was of the light. Maerad realized again how wrong her accusations were last time they parted, and ached at her helplessness to rectify the situation.

            Maerad shook herself out of her reverie. Jussacks were coming. She pawed at Cadvan’s scabbard again, frustrated at his obtuseness. He drew it hesitantly, and she, satisfied, trotted away to face the coming threat. They were just visible now, black specks in the distance, and moving closer quickly.

            “I see them,” Cadvan said softly. His sword was still in his hand, pointing at the ground. “Jussacks.”

            Darsor pawed the ground in anticipation, and they waited for the Jussacks to arrive. When the sleds had gotten about 40 meters from them, they stopped. The Jussacks conversed in their own tongue, seemingly confused about how to address this strange man, alone on the plains with a horse and—surely that was a dog, not a wolf.

            Just when Maerad thought things might go peacefully, however, a hooded man stepped off his sled, speaking contemptuously to the others, and giving Cadvan a black look. The sight of him made Maerad’s hackles rise.

            Suddenly he gestured, and a dark power gathered in the air. A storm seemed to come out of nowhere, darkening the grey day. Black lightning stabbed at Cadvan, but her parried it with his sword, lit with a white light of its own.

            The other Jussacks murmured at this display—they had never seen their sorcerer fail before—and the sorcerer bared his teeth and tried again. It was a cruel blow, and knocked Arnost away this time, but still did not yet touch Cadvan.

            That was when one of the men released the dogs. These were dogs bred for hunting, tearing, killing, with blood lust in their eyes. They headed straight for Cadvan, now weaponless, as the sorcerer advanced and the storm rumbled.

            Maerad stormed into their midst, snarling and biting, hoping that Cadvan could deal with the other threat on his own. The rest of the battle for her was chaos, snapping and growling and pain. She laid about with her teeth, tried to use her slightly larger size to her advantage, but there were twenty of them to her one, and soon she was yelping in pain. Darsor came to help, kicking dogs away with his powerful hind legs.

            The dogs were dismayed by the addition of another powerful foe, and after a few minutes, fled, most of them with either bite marks or cracked ribs. Maerad, bleeding from several places and relieved from the respite, staggered and fell, and Darsor stood guard over her.

            Such strange behavior from a horse, let alone a wild wolf, made the superstitious Jussacks very uncomfortable, and when Cadvan finally killed their sorcerer with white fire they were very quick to leave, the dogs yelping after them.

            Cadvan wearily passed a hand over his face, looking pale and drained from the magical battle. _Friend_ , Darsor rumbled urgently to get his attention.

            Cadvan turned, and when he saw Maerad’s condition, quickly went to his pack to take out the healing kit before going to kneel beside her. He hesitated as he saw the extent of her wounds: a badly torn ear, and a gash on her back, as well as numerous nips and scratches. Maerad took his pause as an opportunity to roll onto her belly, rather than her side. She hated feeling helpless.

“It would be better if you did not move, friend,” Cadvan said very gently. There was a brief silence as he reached for salve and bandage, needle and thread.

            “It was a brave thing you did, wolf. I have never seen its like. And you have saved my life. That is something I cannot forget, even if I can’t understand it.” He began smearing salve into all her wounds, and Maerad made a low sound of discomfort but no other complaint. She laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes. She wished Cadvan would recognize her, and she was so tired.

            “Wolf!” Cadvan spoke sharply, jarring her, “You mustn’t go to sleep! You’ve lost a lot of blood, and if you sleep now your body may give out simply out of shock. Stay awake.”

            Maerad dutifully pried her eyes open and raised her head, but it was hard, and her chin soon drooped. Cadvan started talking, to help her stay awake and to distract her from the stitches he was about to put in to sew up the wide gash on her back.

            “You remind me of someone I know,” he said, and started to push the needle through the skin. Maerad stiffened, it felt so odd, but the salve had numbed it so she didn’t feel pain. “She was also brave—is very brave—and has saved my life numerous times. And loyal, and smart, and as proud as you… “ he paused to pull the thread tight, before continuing  more bitterly, “But I repaid her friendship with coldness, in the end. And, in the end, I lost her. I journey now to find her, perhaps even gain her forgiveness.”

He knotted the string, cut it, and unraveled another length to stitch her ear. “You are most welcome to travel with us, wolf, as long as you please. Darsor and I are traveling to Murask, as you may have heard. It is true they would be surprised to see you, but I would bring you there if you wish. Darsor and I would be glad to count you our friend.”

He was halfway down her ear now, and Maerad exhaled a huge sigh at his words. She had regained his friendship, and now had the whole journey to Murask to figure out how to change back to human.

Cadvan spent the rest of the evening tending to her wounds, and she was even persuaded to drink some medhel before she fell into sleep. Cadvan nibbled some biscuit and drank some medhel himself before following her lead.

Soon, they would be heading over the Osidh Elanor mountains—unless Cadvan decided to go through the Gwalhain Pass again.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting and stuff. I should probably write longer chapters and stop being a wuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like you people who are reading this! Yes you! (This has been a public service announcement.) (Also, it is true.)

Maerad didn’t remember falling asleep… didn’t remember the last month, in fact, when she first woke up in camp. But with the first shift of her wolf body, it all came rushing back, including the pain of her wounds and the frustration of her stuck shape change. She heaved a deep sigh, but then briskly told herself to stop wallowing. She felt she had done far too much of that in her life, especially during the rift between her and Cadvan, and she was still paying for it. What was now was now, and it didn’t help to dwell on her problems like probing a sore tooth over and over with your tongue.

            When Maerad was sure she could face the day with equanimity, she slowly picked herself up, carefully stretching to assess the damage that had been done the previous day by the Jussack’s dogs. They were certainly not trivial, but Maerad felt certain that many of them were superficial, and would fully heal within the week. The ones that had required stitches… well, they would heal too. Eventually.

            Maerad decided to take it a day at a time, and just enjoy the company of Cadvan and Darsor. She was back where she belonged, and that was all that mattered. It had to be.

            “Good morning,” Cadvan said, and she turned to see that he had been watching her from across a fire. “I hope you’re feeling well—or as well as you can be.” H winced a little as he dug through a pack, pulling out some biscuits as well as a precious bottle of laradhel. He took a biscuit for himself, and then another, before stowing the rest.

He made as elaborate a bow as he could while seated before offering the second biscuit to Maerad. “Your breakfast, Milady Wolf,” he said in courtier tones, “It is a pity it is not a more refined delicacy, but the unobliging environment seems to have failed to provide our deserving personages with such things as rabbits or squirrels.”

Maerad snuffed and shook her head at his silliness as she stiffly walked over to delicately take the biscuit from Cadvan. As she crunched it up a polite distance away, she reflected on the food situation. After a day or two, when she’d had time to heal a bit, she really ought to try her hand at hunting again. The rabbit stew could hold her for a few days, but after that, biscuits would not sustain her running pace over the plains. Besides, she couldn’t keep taking from Cadvan’s food source. No, she definitely needed to learn how to hunt in earnest. After she finished her breakfast, she paced around the fire, trying to warm up and stretch her achingly stiff body.

            “Although our repast has been rough, we have a more pleasing beverage,” Cadvan joked, holding up the laradhel before continuing more seriously. “This will help your body to heal, wolf.” Maerad blinked at the bottle, Cadvan’s kindness brought home to her, that he would give precious laradhel to a strange wolf he had met only days previously. She approached him again, unsure how she was going to drink it. Cadvan didn’t look sure either, and looked between bottle and wolf. “I would rather not pour this into a bowl, as some might be wasted,” he said hesitantly. “Would you permit me to pour some into your mouth, instead?”

            Maerad felt and allowed her teeth to bare in a large wolf grin, thinking of what Ka would say about the dignity of he saw this. Nonetheless, she obligingly sat, tilted her head back, and opened her mouth. Cadvan stepped closer and carefully tilted some liquid down her throat. It burned on the way down, as it had when she was human, and the fumes got up into her delicate nose to make her sneeze. This, combined with the somber yet farcical scene occurring—a man respectfully pouring liquor down a wolf’s throat!—suddenly struck Maerad with great humor, and she grinned even wider, laughing in the silent, panting wolf way. When Cadvan saw this, he started laughing with her, and Darsor looked over at them from where he was having his own breakfast to huff a horse’s sound of amusement, too.

            This close to him, Maerad could practically _smell_ his laughter, along with the spice and light that so well became him. It made her happier than she’d been in a long time, and she had the strange urge to get closer to him. She smothered it, though, not wanting to alarm Cadvan in this wolf form. The thought depressed her as the amusement died to affability. She hung onto the outskirts as Cadvan packed up camp, trying again to change back into a human, but all she got for her efforts was a splitting headache. Soon the three unlikely travelers were off, and at least Maerad’s muscles didn’t complain, thanks to the laradhel.

            By the end of that day of travel, Maerad was aching again, but the morning doses of laradhel improved her, and by the third day she was ready to try hunting again. Of course, she couldn’t tell Cadvan was she was doing, so she decided to start out staying with them as they all journey north, until she picked up a scent, in which case she would go after that and hope she could find her friends again.

            So, when she picked up the scent of squirrel, late in the morning, off she went. Cadvan stopped Darsor in surprise, so she turned and nodded at him as best she could, but she didn’t to lose time or the trail so she had to follow it quickly and leave him to wonder until she returned.

            She did find the squirrel nest, and even some squirrels, but she didn’t even come close to catching one. They were too quick, she too slow—and loud, like a walking warning. So she gave up and ran to catch back up with her friends. Cadvan looked surprised—again—and relieved. Maerad resolved to try again.

            So she tried and failed again, once later that morning and twice during the noon-day rest, and came back grumpy and growling under her breath. Cadvan and Darsor exchanged glances, but silently and wisely decided not to question their (not-so) new friend’s strange behavior and moodiness. Maerad, without an outlet for her frustration, smoldered as she jogged along in the afternoon.

She needed a new strategy, and was thinking about one when she smelled—rabbit! Better than squirrel, but also quicker. Maerad decided to go through with her plan anyway, persuaded by the tempting scent, and loped quickly towards her mark. This time, though, she slowed down as she got closer, got slower and slower till she was creeping up on the rabbit. Then, when she was a couple yards away, she pounced, and—this is the important bit—swung her head and teeth fast to kill it. It was the teeth that caught it, that needed to be quick, and they had and she’d killed it! Maerad was almost more surprised than happy at first, dropping the rabbit almost as soon as she’d killed it, but then engaged in a puppy like scamper in celebration. She jumped in the air one last time, picked up the rabbit, and raced to find Cadvan and Darsor, eager to show them what she’d done. Suddenly, though, another rabbit jumped out a bush and ran in front of her path, and just as suddenly, Maerad instinctively dropped what she held and killed it. Deeply shocked, Maerad looked at the two rabbits in front of her now. One had seemed impossible enough, but two—was it possible that rabbits were just more stupid than squirrels, or was she finally getting some instinctual return for being a wolf for so long? Mentally shrugging at the miracle, Maerad grasped both rabbits in her teeth and kept heading back towards Cadvan and Darsor.

    When she reached them, she was almost prancing with pride. “You look quite pleased with yourself,” Cadvan observed as she was approaching, “What is that in your…?”

 _Oh, just guess!_ Maerad thought gleefully, before tossing the rabbits into Cadvan’s hands. He caught them neatly, if gingerly. “Rabbit! Two of them, no less! Friend wolf, you have outdone yourself.” He gave Maerad the look of appreciation that had always made her feel warn inside, and didn’t fail now. She thought about how long it had been since he had got one of those looks as a human. Had he been giving her less, or was she noticing them less? Maerad guessed a little of both. She had so wished for a second chance, when she thought Cadvan was dead, and found herself with… what, half a chance? It seemed cruel.

But, well, dinner was a merry and delicious affair, Cadvan making one rabbit into the classic stew while he saved the other. He had offered it back to her, but she enjoyed the stew much more. They spent the evening in a companionable silence. Silence was pretty much all they could manage. _But then, doesn’t Cadvan prefer silence?_ Maerad thought suddenly, remembering the days before the Gwalhain Pass. She regretted that silence now, bitterly, but did he?

Some of these questions were answered later at night, when the stars were high, the fire burned low, and the moon was a delicate crescent, and Cadvan still sat up, his head in his hands, and his harp still quiet. Maerad hadn’t heard it for a long while. Another thought occurred to her: was silence his penance? And more: was it hers, now?

Maerad didn’t feel built for silence. She uncurled from her sleep ball to go stand by Cadvan. He picked up his head to look at her, and with the confidence that her wolf shape gave her in doing what was instinctually right, she raised her muzzle to the sharp moon and howled, giving voice to both of their sorrows. After that, they went to bed, no more questions asked or anwered.

In the morning, they would be off yet again, drawing North, ever closer to the fast-looming mountains.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel, gentle progress. Maerad's getting frustrated ith the gentility of that progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Cadvan has dreamy eyes. Did I mention I was very tired and posting at 2:30 in the morning? Not that this chapter was written then... no, that one comes later. These notes and summaries are really a different tone than the fic, aren't they? I'll be quiet and let you read, now. Please be a sweet and review. It makes my life happier, and yours too! I have scientific evidence... somewhere.

Maerad’s days fell into a more comfortable rhythm, as their small company made its way into the mountains. Her lean wolf body became toned with muscle as she grew used to the steady lope of constant travel, and Cadvan looked less and less gaunt with what Maerad was able to catch for them to eat. That, perhaps, brought her the most satisfaction day by day: hunting. The wolf part of her delighted in its ability, in the fulfillment of the natural order of things, in satisfying her hunger—well, the human part of her liked that last part, also. But it also felt great happiness to see Cadvan filling out, still as lean and sharp as ever, but no longer  desperately thin.

In the evenings, unhindered by talk or expectation, just friendly silence, she would sometimes let her eyes trace his face, his scar, his dark hair, his collarbones and shoulders. When she looked at his eyes, dark ice blue, he would invariably look up at her, and Maerad would feel a jolt that would keep her more shy with her gaze the rest of the evening.

As for Cadvan, he seemed to trust her, as he had from almost the beginning. It may have been his truth-teller abilities, but Maerad couldn’t help but wonder at his easy interaction with her, a strange wolf with unknowable intentions. Sometimes he would look at her and smile, or nod, or make a remark even though she couldn’t respond. Those gestures of friendship kept Maerad sane, and when she ached with loneliness and missed her hands, her speech, and human things like roofs or beds or even something as simple as drinking out of a cup, she would focus on Cadvan, and just be glad that he was alive and with her.

Darsor, too, she was glad to have with her. He sometimes surprised her with how well he understood her. It was partially an animal thing, like when he had understood wolf pride and ability, but he also was perceptive about her feelings, and his horse sense was comforting. Cadvan sometimes laughed at the picture they made together, a wolf and a horse, and it made Maerad happy. He laughed too little.

Truth be known, though, Maerad was having trouble feeling merry herself, in her predicament. It might not have been so bad if her friends knew who she was, but as they didn’t, she felt like a starving person allowed to eat only a bite a day with a feast laid out before them.

It was on a night when Maerad was feeling particularly melancholy that se realized it had been weeks since she had heard any strain of music. This shocked her enough to make her ears stand on end, and she got up to pace restlessly, trying to think if this had ever happened before.

Even in Gilman’s Cot, that horrid place, she had her lyre, and she played it every day almost. Before that, her mother would sing to her sometimes. Since she had met Cadvan, she had often played her lyre. She suddenly felt hungry for music, for song, and a deep sound of discontent escaped from her wolf’s throat as she paced by the fire.

Cadvan, who was mending some piece of tack by the fire, looked up. “Wolf? What troubles you?” Maerad looked up at him and felt the weight of the night sky on her shoulders, and it was cloud heavy and black and there was no moon tonight to howl for and she growled.

This made Cadvan jump a little, and his hand went to his hip where his sword would be if it wasn’t by his bags, and Maerad _growled_ again, because hadn’t she worked hard enough to earn his trust? It was loud and deep, and Maerad felt her hackles rise. Cadvan didn’t jump again, just kept his eyes steady on her.

“Wolf?” he said quietly, and she growled _again_ , because she _wasn’t_ a wolf and she was angry about it and she was worried she would never play music or talk or stand on two legs again, so what did this human man have to be moping about by the fire? She took a few steps towards him, snarling, to make this point, and Cadvan stiffened before slipping calmly into the Speech. “Ursi. _Wolf. Take peace to yourself, and know that I owe you my life. If you will accept it, you have my friendship forever-more. Whatever crisis you are in, I pledge my help to resolve, as far as I am able.”_

His steady deep blue eyes stayed on Maerad, and as she felt the power of his words and his promise, her hackles fell and her head bent. A kind of relief came over her, feeling that her trouble was not only her own now. She trotted over to Cadvan, head still lowered, not able to face the probing eyes but wanting the comfort of his company, and as she approached she saw his pack.

Seeing it, her head came up, and the deep hunger she felt for music came back to her. Taking the few steps necessary, she took the strap in her teeth and dragged it over to Cadvan, who watched her closely. Then she pawed at the buckle, and knocked it into him.

Hesitantly, he opened the pack. “I’m not sure what you… do you require food? Laradhel?” He pulled the precious bottle out, but Maerad snuffed impatiently and pawed at the pack again. He pulled out one or two more things, only to be rejected impatiently, before his hand fell on his lyre’s case and he looked up into a pair of intent wolf eyes. There was a weak attempt at a smile. “All this for a song? I fear I may be rusty, I haven’t played since…” and because he didn’t seem to be able to finish that sentence and Maerad certainly wasn’t going to talk, she saw him take the lyre out of the pack and case reluctantly, as if compelled by the silence.

When she saw that he was going to play whether he liked it or not, she settled with her head in his lap, her forearm braced on a foot. He was warm, and had all of his good smells, and she felt better than she had all week as his arms came up over her to cradle and strike the lyre, in slow chords at first, but soon settling into the smooth strains and quick, restrained embellishments that defined Cadvan’s playing style.

He only played instrumental pieces at first, some familiar to Maerad, some not, but it was immensely comforting to her. Her forearm came up to rest on his leg, and it was only as she started to drift off in sleep that she heard him singing quietly.

 

_May you find the peace_

_of stillness after a long run,_

_may you find the warmth_

_of the last ray of the setting sun,_

_the rest that you need_

_from your cares and your ills,_

_and the sure gentle kindness_

_of green rolling hills._


	6. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangerously cold times. Also two sleepy scenes for the price of one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think I made two sleep scenes because I wrote this in the middle of the night? That only just occurred to me. Maybe I'm abusing these chapter notes as cheap (well, free) therapy.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I haven't written the next one uite yet, so reviews would be awesome fuel for that!

When Cadvan had played a few songs, he looked down to see a sleeping wolf in his lap, a warm and heavy weight. It wasn’t something you saw everyday, a wolf in your lap, and Cadvan shook his head, wondering at the picture they must make. He thought for probably the millionth time about what this wolf could possibly be doing here, with him; and now undertaking an arduous journey for no apparent reason. Had… she… lost her pack? Did her silence make her an outcast?

            Whatever it was, it seemed like she’d chosen to appropriate him and Darsor as a pack, Cadvan thought humorously. _Darsor, friend,_ he mind called to the horse, who was doing some evening grazing in preparation for sleep. _Did you ever think we’d end up being a wolf’s surrogate pack?_

Darsor looked up and made that snuffing noise he only made when Cadvan was teasing, or being foolish. _No… but if we were, it would be nothing to laugh at. Pack is everything to a wolf. They live and die for pack. Pack is their family, their herd._ He snuffed again and swished his tail. _It is another wolf thing._ He sounded resigned to the strangeness of the situation and returned to his grass, while Cadvan absorbed this new information.

            _Pack is their family._ So had the wolf lost hers? And could she truly have chosen such an odd new one? She certainly hunted for them like one, and that thought sobered him even more than Darsor’s stern response. Her help strengthened their chances of survival by far, and she had already definitively saved their lives once.

            He looked back down at the gray, regal head in his lap. The face was reposed, but this creature could never be mistaken or a pet. And Cadvan remembered well the teeth in that muzzle. But thinking of the loneliness of the wolf’s howls, the generosity of the prey she shared, and the trust she now displayed in him, Cadvan allowed himself a liberty he would never take if she were awake for fear of insult, and gently laid over her ears, stroking at her brow.

 

When Maerad awoke, her head was still in Cadvan’s lap, and Cadvan had fallen into a doze over her, so she only yawned a wolf yawn and snuggled in a little closer to his warmth and scent, and thought sleepily that Ka wouldn’t complain about wolf-pride because it was right to sleep close to your pack.

 

 

 

 

            Just three days later, things were looking more bleak.

They had finally reached the mountains. It had started subtly at first, a gentle climb, but soon the air was getting thinner and chiller. Maerad’s breath was silver in the air, and Darsor wasn’t sweating any more—which was a lucky thing, because it might have frosted right against his hide.

 A slow lethargy was starting to seep into Mearad, and she knew she should be terrified. Cold killed so gently, though, it was hard to notice the danger until you were too far gone to care. Their small party was just plodding on, and Maerad dully watched the sun go over the mountains and realized she had stopped shivering. A bad sign.

But everything was so peaceful, muffled by snow, gilded by sunset. The evening star shone low on the horizon.

That was when Cadvan stumbled and fell.

Maerad felt a bolt of adrenaline go through her, pushing back the cold, as she darted towards him. His eyes blinked slowly as she nosed over him, checking for injury. “Apologies, wolf, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said slowly, “I’m only tired.” He blinked again and started to get up, but Maerad’s new burst of adrenaline just kept saying _too slow, too slow, he doesn’t have a proper pelt and we’re all just moving too slow._

She looked over at Darsor, maybe for some support as she was waiting for Cadvan to get up, but Darsor just looked exhausted and cold, and Maerad tasted a little despair and a lot of last minute determination. Stubborn, Cadvan was always calling her. Well, she would prove that she could out-stubborn him again, this time for a good cause, not a bad one.

With this new determination and with a sense of urgency, because she just knew that soon her energy burst would fizzle, she set her face in a snarl and set her teeth in Cadvan’s sleeve, helping haul him up. He gave her a nod in thanks, but she didn’t let go, dragging him towards the cliff-face, looking for shelter.

For long minutes, she couldn’t find any, pulling an unresisting Cadvan along unforgiving rock and ice, followed by a plodding Darsor, bereft of his usual grace. Adrenaline kept her moving though, and in a minute Maerad could hear herself growling softly and constantly. This would _not defeat_ her, and more importantly, it would not defeat Cadvan, and—there. Unbelievably, Maerad spotted a cave, dark and deep and, most importantly, absent of biting wind and snow.

Maerad tugged Cadvan into it, then turned to make sure Darsor was following. He was, and the three of them were able to limp their way a little further into the ringingly silent dark before Maerad started to shake violently. It was coming down off the adrenaline, it was a good sign because her body was starting to fight the cold again, it was just because it was _so_ unfair that she had to keep watching Cadvan almost die, because it was terrifying, and she’d already believed it once nw, and that was enough, and she shouldn’t have to ever again, because it cut her to the _quick._

Her growling has turned into soft whimpers, now, and her distress combined with the reprieve of shelter has given Cadvan some energy of his own. He had the flinty look in his eye that shows in extreme circumstances, and Maerad just watched it, dizzily grateful that they have this, that they can take care of each other, and it’s possible she’s not thinking very clearly, because it seems like only seconds before all the bedding is unpacked and Darsor’s horse blanket thrown over him.

Cadvan pulled off his boots before getting in the bedroll and pulling off other wet things under there to preserve heat. Then he turned to look at Maerad with those eyes, and the flint seemed to have struck because they’re kind of banked into a fire now, and it looked so warm. Maerad responded to the invitation instantly, trotting over unevenly and wriggling her way into the bedroll.

Once there, she closed her eyes in sheer relief for a second, and didn’t realize until she opens them again to negotiate herself closer to Cadvan’s shared heat that he’s not wearing a tunic, is, in fact, bare-chested. Shock bolted through her for a second, and she looked up from all that skin to meet Cadvan’s banked-fire eyes.

“Surprised I’m not furrier?” He said hoarsely, with a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, and maybe Maerad’s brain was still cold because she had a strange desire to lick at it. “It’s more efficient for sharing body heat,” Cadvan added in explanation, and without further encouragement Maerad scooted even closer to him, getting most of her upper body across his, and her elbow was probably jabbing him in the ribs but her head was lying in the crook of his neck, and they weren’t quite out of danger yet.

It takes a while still for them to warm up enough to sleep. “I think this makes the second time you’ve saved my life, Wolf,” Cadvan remarks into the chill dark, and if Maerad had a voice, she would say _No, we saved each other’s,_ but she doesn’t, so instead she steals a lick at his face after all. It startles him greatly, she can tell, can feel his eyes on her, but he doesn’t laugh, and she is grateful for that, too.

They are still not quite warm, but they are warm enough, and they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reviews with a passion, you know, in case you were wondering. I would even love a review from YOU with a passion. Or, you know, if that creeps you out, just a friendly, platonic love of appreciation. Whichever works.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coldness. Caves. And things with names.

The next morning was very slightly warmer, but still cold enough that getting up to move around was worth abandoning the bedroll—to Cadvan, at least, who gently nudged Maerad off so he could dress under the covers before emerging from them. Maerad lingered in his warm spot for a few minutes more, before she emerged after him. She was grateful for her heavy pelt; her breath hung in the air.

            Cadvan was rummaging in the back of the cave, and Maerad was briefly worried they’d disturbed some animals den—though any animal who wanted to live up here was beyond her understanding—but no, he was moving dirt and a wicker cover off of a pile of wood, stacked against the cave wall.

            He gathered an armful of it and turned to see Maerad’s eyes on him. He inclined his head in greeting, a tired smile dancing on his lips. “Wolf, you don’t cease to amaze me. You have found us a Bardhome, where I would never have even looked for one.” He brushed a hand over the bare wall, revealing runes under the frost, and squinted at them. “Or no, perhaps this is… these runes are very old. A Pilanel shelter, perhaps? From before the Gwalhain Pass was discovered, even?”

            Maerad yipped impatiently. Cadvan _would_ linger over some old writing when there was _fire_ to be had. Cadvan looked back and chuckled at her impatience. “Yes, yes, you’re quite right,” he conceded, and stepped towards the front of the cave where smoke would escape more easily before starting to set up a fire.

            Soon the fire was burning well, and man, horse, and wolf all crowded around it. Darsor butted his head gently against Maerad’s in affection and thanks, and when Maerad sneezed involuntarily Cadvan burst out laughing. It was the first time Maerad had heard him laugh for months, and the sound filled her heart. She couldn’t help her ears flicking forwards at the noise, and Cadvan laughed even harder.

            There was a moment of cheerful silence, before Cadvan broke it. “Well, I think it’s best we stay here until this storm rides itself out. We have plenty of firewood, and we may have to tighten our belts a little, but with the hunting you’ve been doing, our supplies should hold out too.” He sighed and sat down a careful distance from the fire. “Of course, there won’t be much to do while we wait.”

            Maerad shot him a disbelieving look. Sometimes she forgot that Cadvan didn’t understand the monotony and drudgery of her life before he’d found her milking cows in a barn. Whatever her life had been since then, it had not been boring. Unable to articulate this, though, she resorted to action, as she’d grown used to.

            She went and got Cadvan’s pack, dragging it across the floor by a strap, and nosed him until he opened it. He gave her that look he sometimes had, when he was trying to figure her out. It would be annoying, if she didn’t hope so much that he could. Now, though, he just obediently took and opened the pack.

            Used to her ways, he touched the lyre inquisitively first, and when she sat back satisfied, chuckled and took it out of its case. “I’m to be the entertainment, eh? You’re a hard taskmaster, Wolf, you’ll keep me in practice.”

            It was too cold to play anything complicated, even with the fire, but Cadvan sang some simple teaching songs and lastly a pirate ballad Maerad had never heard before. He was the most cheerful Maerad had seen him, since their reunion. _What about this situation is cheering, I’ll never know,_ Maerad thought exasperatedly. Sometimes she felt like she’d never understand Cadvan, and other times she felt like she knew no one better.

            His happiness at the this time, though, drew her like a moth to a flame. She found herself nudging closer to his leg, until she finally rested her head on his knee, basking in the fire with an ear close to the music. The welcome warmth made her drowsy after a night disturbed by cold.

            Cadvan’s last song came to a close, and as he set his lyre down, he let his other hand come to rest behind Maerad’s ears. He started to scratch gently, and it felt so good Maerad’s eyes drifted closed.

            “You know,” Cadvan brought up quietly, “It feels strange to call you ‘Wolf’ all the time. It may be what you are, but it is not who you are.”

            Maerad’s eyes shot back open and her muscles tensed, but Cadvan didn’t notice. She felt a hot ball of distress grow in her throat.

            “Maybe we could come up with a name for you? Silar, maybe, after the valiant Pilanel Warrior-Queen…”

            Maerad sprung up and scrabbled away, a growl tearing its way out of the pain in her throat, a whimper unwillingly following it. She _wasn’t_ a wolf, not really, and being called that was bad enough. Being given a false name… she felt almost like she’d been struck, and in a desperation to escape the feeling she turned and sprinted right out of the cave into the storm, a grey blur of distress.

            If she had waited, she would have seen that Cadvan’s face was as full of shock and distress almost as acute as hers. “Wolf!” he tried to call her back from feeling, “Wolf!” But that could only make her run harder, and his voice soon faded into the howl of the wind.

            Cadvan got to his feet as quickly as he could, starting after her in panic, but he felt a tug on his cloak as Darsor stopped him. Cadvan swung around sharply. “ _It is still storming! She will die out there!”_ he hissed in the Speech, aloud.

            Darsor’s mindvoice held its own distress. _You cannot match her speed, friend, you would only die with her out there._ Cadvan slumped back, unable to argue. _We can only wait._

            Meanwhile, Maerad ran. She remembered her mother, calling her Maerad, no matter what names the other slaves made up for her. She remembered Cadvan pulling the truth of her mother’s full name out of her in a cow byre. She remembered Cadvan first telling her the story of the Nameless One, and having to teach her the importance and power of a Name. “ _To cast it off is to reject who you are.”_

 _“But that’s impossible!”_ Maerad had said. _“How can you not be who you are?”_

            She had a better idea now.

            Maerad was shivering violently before another memory came to her out of the snow, an incongruous sense memory of tingling white fire spreading through her body and whispering her Name to her. _Elednor._ The recollection was almost perfect, and Maerad felt the truth of that name still in her bones, calming her despair.

            Still, she did not feel able to go back and face Cadvan’s confusion, and when another, smaller cave opened up in the cliff beside her she quickly ducked in to curl up, tuck her nose under her tail, and regain her sense of self.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the storm

Cadvan sat and waited, helplessly. There was nothing else he could do, he acknowledged as he put his head in his hands, blocking out the view of howling grey and white he’d been watching out the front of the cave.

            _You know, only a year ago, I would have said I was a decent friend, Darsor, a well-enough conversationalist,_ he didn’t look up _and yet in the space of one season I’ve driven two of the best friends of my life to their deaths._

            Darsor made a rough noise and knocked sharply into Cadvan, sending him sprawling by the fire. _Do not say that! We have no proof that_ either _are dead, and if they were, it would be no fault of yours._

            Cadvan looked at him wryly, his eyes dry but red-rimmed. _Darsor, give me some credit, much though we both may rue it. I was cruel to … to Maerad, with my silence, and to our wolf friend.._ he was silent for a moment. _Do you have any more wolf insights? In this case, I was trying to be the furthest thing from cruel. Our wolf friend has become very dear to me._

            Darsor paused and shuffled his hooves. _To me, also. I feel a strange kinship with her, all the more strange given her species. As for this matter… I would guess that she already has a name, and does not want it taken from her, or to be misunderstood, when her very Speech has already been stolen._

Cadvan winced in horror. _I sense you speak truth, as always, Darsor. I can only hope my foolishness does not cost us dear._

Darsor, who had started nosing him to bed, stopped to ponder seriously. _I do not think she is dead. We will see her again._

Cadvan hoped to the Light Darsor was right, and let him have the last word for that hope. After a pause, though, Darsor had one last comment _: Perhaps you are just bad at speaking to females._ It was black humor, but Cadvan snorted anyway as he curled into his bedroll.

 

 

After long cold hours in the dark, the storm passed, and Maerad crept back to the cave. Back to home, which would always be where her friends were. After darting inside, she hovered over the banked fire for a moment, trying to soak in some heat, but Cadvan’s scent and presence drew her to him very quickly.

            She gave in to her wolf instincts, desire for pack and company and warmth taking over. She was so tired. She slunk to the bedroll and did her best to worm her way in quietly, but of course, Cadvan woke. Maerad whined when it seemed he would speak to her, and he acquiesced to her wordless request. She burrowed into the warm curve of his body, snuffled into his shirt, smelling the spice of his essence in an effort to reassure herself that she was here. She was home. She was safe, and that what all that mattered.

            Cadvan could hear her still whining very quietly into his side, still hurting, and his heart ached with regret. He was a Truthteller, he should know better, but something about this wolf kept subverting his expectations. Unable to speak, or at least asked not to, he swiftly turned and put his arms around the wolf before she could protest or he could think better of it.

            They lay awake like that for some time, Cadvan’s arms snug around Maerad, his embrace and his scent keeping Maerad grounded, her fur and company keeping him warm. It was still the early hours of the morning, and soon they drifted back into sleep together.

Not everything was fixed when they woke up, but everything was better. Maerad stretched her neck to hide her face in Cadvan’s neck for a moment longer, but her cold nose made him yelp. His hands tightened on her, and for a moment she just felt pure joy in their reunion.

Cadvan stretched out himself, and gazed at Maerad consideringly before giving in to his gut and pressing a kiss to her brow. He followed it with his own brow, and Maerad snuffed into his face. “I am glad you came back, Wolf,” he whispered carefully. Maerad snuffed back again, more deliberately. Both in new accord, they got up to face a new day.

As Cadvan dressed and pack, he wondered at his new-found tactility. He’d never been one for touch, perhaps because so many had feared to touch him since the Black incident that had so changed his life, when he summoned the Wight. And embrace from Nelac or a clap on the shoulder from Malgorn were interspersed by long months of little human contact.

Now, though, with this wolf, touch was one of the only ways they could communicate. Words, so long a staple to Cadvan, had been failing him lately. Perhaps it was time for an old dog to learn new tricks, he thought dryly, and with a little wonder. He had rarely felt so comforted as he had that morning.

But for now, there was no more time to dwell on a horror of a night spent on a cruel mountain, for they were on their way to off of it. There was energy in Maerad’s paws, in Darsor’s hooves, and they made quick time downhill. By the end of the travel-day they were down in the feet of the mountain, among pine trees and tundra, and Maerad was able to catch a brace of squirrels for supper.

They were on their way, back to Murask, and though Maerad walked on wolf pads, she held on to the knowledge of self within her, and she focused on the warmth of her friends. They would see Sirkana, she suddenly realized as they rested companionably before the campfire. Perhaps she could help Maerad be understood—she had a clear sight.

That night, with no need for negotiation or misunderstanding, Maerad and Cadvan curled up and slept together as they had the night before. Both were comforted, and both slept well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murask and events there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reviews, those of you that reviewed! I’ve said it before: I’m a way slow updater. I was super psyched to have some attention on Ao3 for this story, when this fandom is so itty bitty here! One more chapter after this, I think, to bring it to a nice round 10. Anyway. On to the show.

Cadvan and Maerad continued to curl up together at night, all the way the Murask. It kept them warmer, and it kept them closer, in a world that grew increasingly desolate. Maerad was trying to cling to her humanity, and when she felt Cadvan’s breath stir her fur and smelled the herb-spark scent of him, she felt like she would never forget who she was. Cadvan was trying to cling to companionship, to true friendship, to the kind of feelings…

            Well. They sustained him. They were feelings of home, and warmth, and he was still trying to figure out their full extent, but it felt like… love. With the safety of assured platonic affection, since his companion was a wolf. Cadvan had always been afraid of love, or no, that wasn’t quite right… he had never felt that he _deserved_ it, and he had always felt the slight bite of hypocrisy when speaking to Maerad of the ways of the heart.

            He’d had dalliances, sure; Nerili, for example, was a dear friend whom he’d been very close to in the past, but the key word there was friend. Whenever Cadvan felt his heart drawn closer, or seen someone draw closer to him, interested in deeper things, all he could see was Ceridin, falling into the abyss, slain by the darkness within him. He wasn’t sure if his hesitancy was because he didn’t want to betray her, or because he didn’t want to hurt anyone like that again.

            It wasn’t rational, Cadvan admitted to himself one night, his forehead resting against the wolf’s shoulder. But it was safe. It was why he had the humility and trust to have Darsor as his friend and equal. It was, maybe, why his heart was opening like a parched flower to the constant companionship and low expectations of the wolf.

            He opened his mouth to articulate some of these thoughts to the wolf, to express his gratitude and explore his thoughts aloud, but then closed it again without saying anything.  It seemed somewhat unfair, when the wolf didn’t have the benefit of speech.

            Maerad, meanwhile, was learning new things about silence. Always, before, it had meant isolation and pain to her; her music was a weapon against it, her only solace in Gilman’s Cot after her mother died. When Cadvan had retreated into it before the disaster of the Gwalhain pass, it had felt like a betrayal, like a return to days of old when she had no one to trust and no one who trusted her.

            The silence now, though, even if was somewhat forced, on her at least… the trust was still there. Without the fear of punishment, of isolation, she could find a peace in it she’d never expected to find. And how could she be lonely pressed right up against Cadvan, all her enhanced senses taking him in; and, increasingly, telling her she was with pack. They were starting to smell like each other, what with sleeping (and doing everything else) together.

            When Maerad’s thoughts were at their darkest, Cadvan would let her snuggle her muzzle under his shoulder blade, and she would take in deep breaths of his scent and listen to his heartbeat. When she was at her most optimistic, she imagined finding the perfect solution at Murask, finding her human shape, living her true name. Part of her dreaded losing the closeness she’d gained with Cadvan as a wolf, but a larger part felt a burning excitement at the idea that she might keep it, even in her human form. It made her stomach jump nervously, and when she got to thinking about it, she would usually run off and hunt to distract herself.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

 

            It seemed an age and yet not long until they could see Murask coming up in the distance. Excitement and dread infected the party, Cadvan and Darsor hoping for news of Maerad, and Maerad hoping for a solution to her situation, or at least some recognition.

            The reality of a destination so long anticipated quickly sets in. When they get to the city gate, the guard looks at Maerad with horrified askance. She is clearly not a dog, not even one of the huge sled huskies they have here. She is Wolf, through and through, and none of Cadvan’s patient, Truth-telling words can persuade the young gatekeeper to let them in without endorsement from a higher authority.

            So they waited outside the gate, Cadvan’s hand resting absently on Maerad’s ruff, a paw resting similarly on his boot, until a older, sharp-eyed man came to look them over. He clearly recognized Cadvan, and tried to persuade him to leave the wolf outside the city; was Cadvan was not to be persuaded, and with many promises made about Maerad’s civility, they were finally allowed inside.

            People watched them as they passed, wide-eyed and whispering, the Southern, School-trained Bard and the Wolf both very strange, and even stranger together. Darsor left them, taken to the stables to be treated very well, but Maerad chose to stay with Cadvan, and he supported her silent decision as they were shown to a room.

            Sirkana was in meetings all day, it seemed, so they had a night of rest and respite before their hopes were to be dashed or fulfilled. It didn’t stop Cadvan from asking their guides if they’d seen Maerad, Maerad herself chuffing ironically at his side each time and making them stumble over their negative replies.

            They tangled together in the guest room bed that night as easily as they had in Cadvan’s bedroll for weeks now. Cadvan was restless, though, tossing and turning until Maerad had to roll on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. The weight of her seemed to relax him, and for once he was the one to bury his face in her back.

            “I need the chance to fix it, wolf,” he whispered, “I need to find her, I need her to be alright for so many reasons; but I think that one most of all. I’ve made too many mistakes to let this one stand.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

            The next morning was… bright and strange, it seemed to Maerad. There was an air of anticipation that had only grown since the night before, and being Wolf, there was no comforting preparation she could go through before their audience with Sirkana. She could only watch as Cadvan washed his face and buttoned his vest.

            Soon, they stepped out the door, and found a guide there ready to take them to the audience hall. Cadvan’s hand rested unthinkingly on the back of Maerad’s neck as they walked. Maerad saw the guide sneak several incredulous, nervous glances, both at her and at that telling gesture of trust between them.

            When they arrived at the hall, Sirkana was already standing to welcome them. Maerad shook Cadvan’s hand off; not without regret, but she felt the dignity of her position and wanted to be seen as independent and wild, not a domesticated pet. To her pleasure, Sirkana bowed slightly to her, as well as to Cadvan, who bowed back as Maerad inclined her head.

            “I have already heard much of your unusual companion, Cadvan,” Sirkana said, a smile in the corner of her grave eyes. “Word of you has traveled with unusual speed. The School-taught Bard and the Wolf.” Her gaze turned back to Maerad. “ _Samandalame, Ursi.”_ Maerad, of course, could not respond.

Cadvan took a subtle, deep breath. “I come looking for news of Maerad,” he said, “Have you seen or heard tell of her since I last was here? I… was supposed to meet with her, but I fear something has gone wrong.”

            Sirkana wasn’t looking at him, however, her gaze stuck on Maerad, the wolf. She started forward, a furrow starting in her brow. “Who is your companion, Cadvan? Is she so silent for pride?”

            Cadvan, thrown off, turned to look at Maerad also. “No, she… I ran into her on my travels, and we have become friends, but she has never spoken I fear she is unable to, though I’ve never seen or heard of such a predicament before.”

            Sirkana nodded, her eyes never leaving Maerad’s. “That does not wholly surprise me, yet here in the North we have heard some tales…” her voice trailed off as she kept looking, and soon Maerad felt something similar to a soul gaze… nothing so intense as what she and Cadvan had shared on occasion, and not strengthened by a speech-spell; a surface look, a sharing. Maerad felt the familiarity of their blood-connection, felt Sirkana’s Goodness and dignity, and could only hope that Sirkana felt something recognizable in her…

            When Sirkana finally broke their gaze, she was breathing a little more heavily, and her eyes were wide. Cadvan looked alarmed. “What is it, Sirkana? If you know of what curses her, tell me, and I will do whatever I can… depending on Maerad.” His expression was torn, but determined, willing to bear whatever burden necessary in addition to those he already bore.

            “Cadvan,” Sirkana spoke gently, with worry and wonder both in her voice. She quickly crossed the remaining floor between them, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning them both towards the grey ruffed wolf. “This _is_ Maerad.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> discoveries, and also, Sirkana employs some really solid librarians

Cadvan’s face cycled through several expressions: _very_ confused, slightly horrified, incredulous, and finally blank, as though there was too much going on behind it to show. He actually stumbled backwards with the force of the proclamation.

            Maerad, meanwhile, rushed at Sirkana, _so grateful_ for her clear Sight. She dug her muzzle into Sirkana’s belly, tail wagging like a puppy, and Sirkana soothed her with smooth strokes over her head and neck. Claw would have scolded her for such un-wolf-like behavior, but she _wasn’t_ a wolf, and now everyone knew. Everyone important, anyway.

            At that thought, her tail stopped wagging, and she tugged her head from Sirkana to swing towards Cadvan. He had gone pale, and his face was still blank, like he wasn’t sure what to feel. She padded towards him, still happy, but more… somber. This was… a lot. To handle. To reconcile with the past weeks of intimacy.

            She sat a foot in front of him, ready to accept whatever reaction he had, but not willing to leave him, no matter how hard the future might be. She wouldn’t let him drive her away again, by accident or on purpose, despite the good intentions that would no-doubt motivate his every action.

            Cadvan cleared his throat, and to Maerad’s relief, moved a step closer. “She’s…. you’re,” he corrected himself, speaking to Maerad directly, “…Maerad?”

Maerad awkwardly, carefully nodded her head up and down, and a chuff escaped her. In the next moment, Cadvan lunged to his knees before her and threw his arms around her neck, burying his fingers in her fur and whispering apologies and gratitude behind her ear.

Maerad felt the binding on her tongue keenly, and, unable to speak, could only communicate her own relief and forgiveness by wriggling tighter into their embrace and whining softly.

Sirkana didn’t speak or interrupt their belated reunion, but after long moments, they turned back to her on their own. “Sirkana, you said… you said you knew of similar legends? What sorcery keeps Maerad thus?” Cadvan asked, voice hoarse, still on his knees next to Maerad. “Is it the Winterking?”

“I… must admit, I never did credit them with truth, or at least only what was true in ancient days. I don’t recall more than the childish flights of fancy we still tell our children.” Sirkana looked at Maerad again with wonder in her eyes. “I will have to ask our elders and peruse the library. You are welcome to it also, if you wish.”

Cadvan nodded sharply, but then hesitated. “I will… but perhaps this evening. There are things…” he trailed off, “and we need to see Darsor.”

Sirkana nodded, an understanding smile on her face. “You have much to adjust to. What should have been a joyous reunion is clouded by magic we none of us understand.” She smiled at Maerad, then, and went down on her own knees to reach out and grasp her foreleg. “And yet, I do not feel that it is malicious, somehow. All will be well.”

 

 

            After a strangely anti-climactic meeting with Darsor in the stables (he snuffled her and shared a moment of silence, for which she was grateful not to have to respond to) Maerad and Cadvan returned to their room. Cadvan hesitated in the doorway.

            “I suppose you… we can get you your own room, of course—“ Maerad rolled her eyes as best she could and cut Cadvan off by tugging him towards the bed, her teeth in his sleeve. He followed, albeit unsurely.

            Maerad had to keep tugging on him, to get him to sit on the bed before she jumped up and lay down on it herself. He was so stubborn, as always, and it made her chuff at him in exasperation and fondness, a noise she had grown used to using and he, no doubt, and gotten used to hearing. In any case, it helped him relax enough to sit down on the bed.

            “So… so all this time.” He said finally, and looked at her, really, in the eyes, and _knew_ her. The gaze bolted through her like cobalt blue lightning. “Maerad, I’m sorry. For how it was, before… before the pass. And for what’s happened to you now, and for not _seeing it,_ ” He looks down for a minute, but then right back up, and Maerad can’t speak to comfort him. “But I swear to you, by the Light, Maerad— _We will fix this._ I’m right here.”

            Maerad was shocked by the depth of feeling in Cadvan’s eyes, and in her own heart. Her whole life, she’d mostly shoved her feelings down and away, deemed too dangerous or depressing to be lingered upon. But Cadvan, as always, cracked her open and showed her where she could be strong.

            The moment stretched and stretched, Maerad curled up next to Cadvan, so many feelings between them. And then Sirkana burst into the room, startling both of them to the floor. Cadvan, luckily, on his feet—Maerad, unfortunately, not, although she twisted herself up to sitting in a moment, trying to pretend as dignifiedly as possible that she didn’t just embarrass herself.

            “I found something,” Sirkana said, a little breathless and far from her normally put together self. She was holding a few scrolls in her arms.

            “Already?” Cadvan exclaimed, “It’s only been a few hours.”

            Sirkana shrugged gracefully. “Hearing of our problem, the loremasters here responded with alacrity—we want our cousin healed.” She looked at Maerad with compassion.

            Cadvan found himself blinking hard, and Maerad also felt a weight in her chest. Who knew they could have found such warmth so far North? “So what did you find?”

            “Right, of course, let’s just…” There was a desk in the room, which Sirkana found after looking around and placed the scrolls on. She took one and spread it out carefully. Maerad sneezed at the must, and Cadvan bent over the desk to examine it. It had a beautiful, stylized drawing of a wolf, and several paragraphs of text Maerad couldn’t even recognize, much less read.

            Cadvan, on the other hand, was reading rapidly, his eyes darting over the page. His brow furrowed, and he reached out to keep the scroll flat as Sirkana rolled out another, this one with a drawing in the same style of a group, or maybe a family? Maerad peered at it, but was shuffled a little aside as Cadvan abandoned the first scroll for the second. She snuffed in annoyance and gave up to go lie down on the bed.

            When he was done reading, Cadvan slowly straightened, his face unreadable. “I… I see.”

            Sirkana nodded and rolled out the third scroll. “Yes, that is the tale… and I found this interpretation, also, from a prominent Truthteller many ages ago.”

            Cadvan scanned the document and nodded to himself. “Yes, I thought as much.”

            Tired of looking back and forth and understanding nothing, Maerad bark-growled. It wasn’t a sound she made often, and it made Cadvan jump before they both turned, Cadvan choosing to sit next to her on the bed while Sirkana took the chair.

            Closer to Cadvan now, Maerad could smell his upset, though his face remained as inscrutable as it often was. She inched closer and leaned against him, trying to offer comfort while he started to speak.

            “Maerad, the scrolls tell an ancient myth about a… not a Bard, but a… one-who-speaks-to-wind?” He looked to Sirkana.

            “It is hard to translate, but probably a part-Elemental, or close to it.” Sirkana helped explain. “As you know, the Pilanels have long associated with the Elementals, so tales of such part-bloods are… still rare, but not unheard of, especially in this time period.”

            “Right.” Cadan shook his head in small wonder. “So, this particular tale tells of a part-Elemental named Oromë; he grew strong in the way of… it says the Voice and the Music, which I take to mean both Bardic and Elemental Art.” Sirkana nodded in support. “He learned to turn himself into a wolf, Maerad. Is that what happened to you, or were you turned by someone else?”

            Maerad and Sirkana both gave him an exasperated look. “You must ask one yes or no question, Cadvan,” Sirkana reminded him, and Maerad smacked him in the back with her tail in agreement. Cadvan was surprised into a small wry smile at Maerad, and that settled her more than anything else could.

            “Sorry, Maerad. Is that what happened to you?”

            Maerad nodded as obviously as she could, happy that she could do so: surely this story was similar enough to lead to a solution.

            “Good, that’s good.” Cadvan paused to shake his head and murmur something to himself about legends walking the earth, but Maerad was impatient (justifiedly, she felt) and poked him hard in the ribs with her nose to continue.

            “Alright! I’m telling it.” He gave her a look tempered by affection. “Oromë didn’t get stuck in this form, he could switch back and forth, until one day his family caught the plague and died; He left the city in wolf-form, and none knew where he went—for years, the scroll didn’t say how long—until one day, a wolf came to that same city and started guarding a family there. No one knew why, and it took time for them to lose their fear of him. Eventually, though, the Elder of the family hobbled out to see him, and recognized him, calling him by Name. Oromë was thus reunited with his Niece and her family, and found his human form again, living to again be a leader of his people; and he never left his family again.

            “The interpretation hypothesizes that it was not just his name, but hi Truename that called him back to himself, and also that it was important that it was his family who called him. This is in accordance with other stories of people called forth from sleeping sickness or magery gone astray.”

            The upset smell Maerad had sensed earlier was back in full force, and Cadvan stood abruptly, jostling Maerad and rubbing a hand over his face perfunctorily. “So, then. It seems we’ve found our answer, and… I leave you to it.” He bowed to Sirkana and Maerad.

            It was just like Cadvan, Maerad thought, annoyed, to act like everything was settled and understood when absolutely _nothing_ was. It wasn’t just her, this time, either: when she snuck a look at Sirkana to check, she looked just as confused, and so Maerad felt very justified in jumping off the bed and scampering around in between Cadvan and the door. She growled at him when he tried to step around her.

            “Cadvan.” Sirkana’s voice was flat. “I’ve no notion why you’re trying to leave, and I think it’s clear that neither does Maerad.”

            Cadvan turned back around, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I think it’s clear, Sirkana, that it should be her family that calls her back, and I wouldn’t want to interfere. What Maerad wants to do afterwards… we’ll discuss then.”

            Maerad sat abruptly, cold at heart, but Sirkana’s reaction seemed to be the opposite: there was fire in her eyes as she stood. “You foolish man!” She burst into a quiet cloud of what sounded like Pilanel cursing before stepping up to Cadvan and continuing in a quieter, but no less intense voice.

            “Family is not blood, Cadvan—not just, at least. It’s sticking together in the cold times, it’s knowing each other deep down, it’s _love._ I saw Maerad when she thought you were dead, you know”—Cadvan winced at that—“and if you don’t know, I am qualified to play witness. _You’re_ her family,” Glancing at Maerad in her current state, she added “You’re her pack.”

            Cadvan’s shoulders had slowly hunched in on himself while she spoke, and when he looked up at the end, his eyes were wet. He cleared his throat a couple times. Sirkana indicated Maerad pointedly, then stepped around both of them, closing the door behind her as she left.

            Cadvan knelt down to Maerad’s level and slowly reached out, putting his hands on her shoulders. Maerad felt like she couldn’t breathe, only watch and listen, until Cadvan cleared his throat again and whispered in the speech hoarsely:

            “ _Elednor Edil-Amarandh na, come back to me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I’M THE WORST! But this chapter was turning out to be really long, and I thought you might want the quicker update… the more reviews I get, the quicker I’ll post the end! (coercion, what, what is this thing you speak of)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go! I’ve had a couple of stalwarts sticking with me; just know that you guys are the best people, kay? And let the record show, I finished this fic, despite it taking forever! Also, seriously, thanks for reading; the encouragement I’ve gotten makes me want to keep writing.

“ _Elednor Edil-Amarandh na, come back to me_.”

 

There a was a breath, a pause, and then fire burned through Maerad, forcing her to the peak of nothingness and back again. Her body went limp, supported only by Cadvan’s hands on her shoulders, and then she was _squeezed_ into a different shape. Ragged and dirty and _human_ , kneeling in a mirror to Cadvan, and she slipped her arms free of the pack still on her and threw them around his neck.

            He buried his face in her neck, half-laughing, half-crying, but very quietly, while Maerad said his name at least four or five times, just grateful for the taste of speech in her mouth and saying the name that most meant comfort to her. They stayed on the floor for long moments in a tight embrace.

            Eventually Cadvan pulled back enough to lean their foreheads together, and he hushed her when she started to shake with relief. “Well, Wolf,” he murmured, and this close she could see the gentle glint in his deep blue eyes and the affection in the corner of his eyes, “I think I found your name after all, and also what I’ve been looking for all along.”

            Maerad laughed for the first time in… oh, months, and it felt so good she could hear her own surprise in it. “Me too,” she said, and in a moment of impulsive joy leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

            There were still things to be said, though, and shortly they helped each other to their feet, legs a little numb from kneeling so long, and Maerad a little shaky from a month of four feet. They sat down on the bed to talk, neither willing to be so far as the chair.

            Maerad spoke of her time with the Winterking, astonished as the talked to find the feeling of… unhealthy infatuation dissolved by the distraction of her time since, and by the warmth of her new-found closeness to Cadvan. She told him about losing her fingers, how she turned into a wolf, about meeting Sirkana and about Dharin, all the way back to when she thought he was dead and played him a mourning-song. Cadvan started at that, and told her of his own dark time then—how he had thought that music a hallucination, his own heart giving voice to its pain.

            They did not speak long of that time, but they spoke for a long while of everything else.

            Sooner than later, both exhausted from their trip and from the emotional exertions of the day, they grew too tired to talk more. Maerad’s could feel her blinks getting slower and longer, and after a long silence, yawned and started to get under the covers. “Come on then,” she prompted when Cadvan didn’t follow suit.

            “Maerad!” Cadvan hissed, scandalized. He didn’t get under the covers, but he didn’t get off the bed either, which Maerad considered progress. Cadvan was as skittish as her, sometimes. Maerad’s trauma was overcome by her trust in Cadvan; she guessed that Cadvan had to learn to trust himself also.

 

            “We’ve been sharing a bedroll long since,” Maerad said reasonably, “It’s not exactly new. And… I want to be close to you still. We’re pack.”

“Well, but, it’s different, now that… well…” Cadvan hesitated. “It’s inappropriate.”

            “…Now that I am not a wolf?” Maerad said for him. “Cadvan. I never was. When I…” she took a deep breath; this would take courage from both of them. “When I slept in your bedroll, it wasn’t for warmth, and it wasn’t because I was a wolf.” Cadvan looked away, as if in shame, or perhaps confusion.

            She took his chin in her hand and drew his eyes back up to hers. “Cadvan Truthteller,” she said quietly, “You have told me the truth for many miles now, not with words, but with action. Look into my eyes now and tell me what truth you see there.”

            He looked, and spoke even more quietly. “You love me.” His voice wasn’t questioning, and it didn’t waver; but something in it still asked for validation. Maerad had rarely seen Cadvan so vulnerable, and her hand moved up to stroke the whiplash scar high on his cheekbone.

            “Yes,” she answered simply, and something of her own fear must have shown, because Cadvan reached up to cup her face, mirroring her own gesture. “For many reasons, and not… frivolously.” She looked at him fiercely. “I know this is a conversation we’ve had many times, but Cadvan, truly: I am not a child. I haven’t been for some time, though perhaps I was one when you first met me.”

            Cadvan gathered her into his arms, and she tucked her head into his shoulder. “I know, old soul,” he murmured to her, “You’ve had to grow up fast. I just… I never wanted to be one of the things forcing you to.”

            Maerad wrapped her outside arm around his waist. “Cadvan, in all of this, you’ve been my safe place, my home and family, my conscience and keeper.” She let her lips quirk upwards. “You couldn’t force me into anything if you tried.”

            Cadvan let out a sigh, and Maerad could feel him relax significantly. A moment later he relaxed further, reclining to lay them back against the pillows. His hand stroked over her hair, reminiscent of long nights of him petting her fur, as a wolf. Maerad knew that before, she might have taken his silence as doubt, or cold; but now she could almost feel him thinking and processing. She was willing to wait for him.

            After some sweet dragging moments where Maerad drowsed and compared Cadvan’s smell from a human perspective (spicier, but her time as a wolf had taught her to smell the Light just the same), he murmured soft and strong in the speech: “ _I do love thee, Elednor_.”

            Maerad buried her smile in his neck, inhaling Light and spice and love. “ _I know.”_ Her use of the Speech was deliberate; she wasn’t lying, and Cadvan, so unused to trust, had to accept hers.

            He seemed to be willing to: he tipped up her chin and bent down his head and kissed her, light and tender enough to make Maerad’s heart ache even as her body tingled. She pressed back lightly. Nothing about it was anything like the rough treatment at Gilman’s Cot, or the pressure and panic of her learning experience with Dernhil, or the ice of Arkan’s affection. It was warm and soft and as soothing as it was exciting. When they parted again, Maerad found herself smiling.

            “I just don’t want to push.” Cadvan said.

            “Then let’s just rest,” Maerad suggested. “We don’t need to push, just let it grow.”

            And they kept each other warm till morning.


End file.
